


Use The Bloody Door, Cass

by TheoMiller



Category: Multi-Fandom
Genre: Gen, cafe verse, what even
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 04:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheoMiller/pseuds/TheoMiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To save Sam and Dean from demons, Castiel breaks through the shell of the Universe and finds a place in a state of temporal grace to land and recuperate, but instead the Winchesters are stranded outside their universe with an unconscious angel and a bunch of really, really strange people. (or, the one where Cass overthinks things and does the equivalent of a human breaking down a 5-inch steel wall instead opening an unlocked door)<br/>AKA my 100 Follower Fanfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ordinary Earth Ants

“Where the _hell_ are we, Cass?”

Cass slumped against the wall, breathing heavily. “Outside the universe. The demons would have killed us otherwise, as recompense for stopping them from breaking the seals. They were very powerful. I’m just going to—” He toppled over, and Dean barely moved to catch him in time. The angel was much heavier than he’d expected, and he lowered him to the pine wood floors rather quickly.

“I didn’t think angels could pass out,” said Sam.

“Dude, we’re outside the universe, and you’re interested in angel biology?”

Sam made his ‘fair enough’ face and turned to look around the dimly lit room. “Wait, haven’t we been here?”

“No, Sam, we haven’t been _outside the universe_ before—oh. Wait, this is that little café from that time Dad was sick! What the hell?”

There was a clattering around the corner, and Dean pulled his gun out, training it on the empty space, waiting for something to come at them. Instead, a light flickered on. “Please tell me that wasn’t a gun cocking!” A voice called.

“It was,” said Dean. “Now come out slowly with your hands up, and I won’t shoot you.”

“Like hell I’m coming out—hang on. _Dean Winchester_?”

“How do you know who I am?”

A head finally poked around the corner. “Your life is a TV show in an alternate universe, where I come from,” the owner of the voice said apologetically.

“That’s not funny,” Dean snapped.

“I don’t think she’s joking,” said Sam. “Look, Castiel said we were out of our universe. Maybe we fell into hers.”

“Um, pardon, but how well do you know Castiel?” she piped up.

“If you watch us on TV, shouldn’t you know?” Dean said.

The girl edged out a bit more, squinting. She was clad in flannel pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt with a crest for something called the ELE. “You’re still wearing the Samulet, so you’re in Season 4. And Sam’s hair is still flippy at the ends, so… you’re working on the Seals, I’ll bet, and it’s still 2008. Right, okay. Um, I’m not sure how long it will take Castiel to recover from jumping here.”

“Holy shit,” breathed Dean. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Aline. I’m just a blogger, honestly, so can you _please_ put that gun down before the Doctor—”

A strange whooshing sound echoed through the café just then, and the girl—Aline—winced. “He _really_ doesn’t like guns, and I might actually cry if you hate him, so just play nice, alright? I’m going to go get you all something to drink. Don’t worry about Cass, the café will make him a cot if he gets uncomfortable. Guns away!”

“How can the café make a cot?” Sam trailed after her as she went into the kitchen.

“Um, there are these little glowing circuit balls that grow on trees in TARDISes and they apparently still had juice when Someone built the café with the scraps from that other pocket universe in _The Doctor’s Wife_ , so they still create new things as needed.”

“Someone?”

“Yeah. Capital S, mostly ‘cause we haven’t the faintest who it was.”

“Maybe it was God,” Sam mused.

Aline snorted. “Unless Ch—uh, Elohim—from your universe popped over to another universe when he ditched, I doubt it.”

“Wait, so, God isn’t in charge of all the universes?”

“ _I_ don’t think so,” she said, “But I’m a jaded old pagan. Oh! There’s the Doctor now,” she added brightly, as a bell jangled in the other section of the café.

Sam walked back around the bar and saw a tall, slim man with spiky hair standing in the doorway, shadowed by another blonde girl.

“Brilliant!” He chirruped, rocking onto his heels. “Rose, look, the boys are back!”

“Hi!” She said cheerily to Dean, and then waved at Sam. An awkward silence fell as Dean just made a low growling noise and stepped between them and the angel.

If the ant crawling along the ceiling beam of the café A) cared about humans’ funny little ways and 2) had the requisite brain function to notice such things, she would tell you that the taller Winchester was studying the surroundings and completely missing the way cushions rearranged themselves when he wasn’t looking and the paint darkened into a muted goldenrod sort of color. Change blindness, however, is not a concept ordinary Earth ants are capable of observing and identifying.

Aline hurried out of the kitchen area with a tray of a rather odd assortment of food before either of them could question the newcomers. Sam took the dark green mug she offered him and was pleasantly surprised to find a perfectly made pumpkin latte. “Did you make this?”

“Gods, no. I can’t stand the smell of coffee. I just pushed a button that was labeled ‘Sam’ on the drink machine.”

Dean accepted his patterned blue mug and matching plate of pie with a look of trepidation at war with temptation.

“And tea with banana bread for the Doctor and Rose. Right, well, I have camera feed to edit for gifs. If anyone else shows up, Doc, you’re on kitchen duty.”

She vanished in place, and Dean blinked. “Where’d she go?”

“Home, I’d imagine,” the Doctor shrugged. He was letting another ant crawl across his palm and beaming at it. Don’t ask what ordinary Earth ants are doing in a sentient restaurant outside the universe—well, universes. A bunch of butterflies once got exposed to time energy and evolved overnight to feed on souls, all because London Sherlock brought corpses from his own personal body farm (a gift from London Sherlock’s Mycroft to both Sherlock and Molly, because the morgue is really not a good place to get experimental bodies) to the café’s lab and the insect life followed the food source. “So, how are you?” He asked, allowing the ant to crawl off onto the tabletop.

Normally, insects are a no-no in places that make food. Ants here got sent back to an ant farm stocked with everything an ant could dream of wanting (not that it was enough to keep them in the bloody ant farm) anytime they attempted to go into the kitchen. Soon, they learnt not to venture into the kitchen. They may or may not evolve with a complicated religious belief about kitchens, it’s hard to say.

“Err, sorry, do we know you?” Sam asked politely.

Rose grinned at him. “Not yet, apparently. We’re time travelers! I’m Rose Tyler, and this is the Doctor.”

Rock music suddenly flooded the café, and Rose rolled her eyes. “And _that_ is Tony Stark.”

A man in an AC/DC t-shirt strolled in, carrying a weird looking tablet. He was closely followed by an Indian man who kept his eyes downcast.

“Who the hell are you?” Tony asked, flicking his gaze over Dean, Sam, and finally Castiel—and holy _shit_ , there was a cot there now.

“I’m Dean Winchester,” Dean said. “You must be Tony Stark. And man, I like your t-shirt.”

“Even strangers from alternate universes know who you are,” groaned the second man.

Tony smiled toothily and ignore his companion. “Must be,” He agreed. “And _you_ must have great taste in music, Dean. Oh! Right. Introductions. Names. This is Bruce Banner. I’d tell you not to piss him off, but the café is in a state of temporal grace, so he can’t turn into a giant green monster and crush you to itty bitty mushy bits.” This last bit was accompanied by a one handed gesture that looked like someone with arthritis trying to milk a cow, evidently to depict mushy. Or maybe crushing. Possibly even temporal grace, it was hard to tell.

“So, where’s the rest of the Dream Team?” the Doctor asked with a tiny bounce.

“The Avengers?” Tony said. “Oh, here and there. I told them we were going to the café tonight, but apparently they couldn’t make it.”

“Or they ended up in a different week,” Rose said.

Bruce tilted his head. “Yeah, that’s possible,” He said distractedly. “Um, is he okay?”

“Who, Cass?” Dean said, and cast the angel a glance. “Yeah, think so. Apparently even angel mojo can’t handle smiting a bunch of demons and then zapping three people to a different universe.”

“Pocket universe,” the Doctor corrected. “Outside your universe, but not in another universe.”

“Certain cosmic events are major enough to cause rifts between universes, and eventually debris from enough different universes combines and forms little pockets of omniversal constants. It’s like when in studying water flow, how sediment drifts and settles in certain places. Each water molecules is a universe, and the silt being tossed about is the debris in the Void, and the spaces between water molecules – for instance, the hydrogen bonds – are the Void itself, and the silt deposits are pocket universes.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” the Doctor beamed at Tony. “Well. I could, but that was good, especially for a human.”

“I am a very exceptional human,” Tony said.

“Yes, I have wondered what fluke of evolution or environment led to your enormously high learning capability…”

Rose stomped on the Doctor’s foot. “Or maybe he’s just a really cool human,” She hissed.

“Err, right. Of course,” He said, rubbing at the foot.

Bruce cleared his throat. “Is Cass supposed to glow?”

-

_Deleted scenes:_

“What’s that?” Dean asked, pointing to the glowing circle under Tony’s shirt.

Tony smirked. “Proof I have a heart,” he said.

“It’s called the arc reactor,” the Doctor rejoined. “It keeps the shrapnel in his chest from killing him, very clever. Speaking of clever! Are any of the Sherlocks here?”

“No… just us,” Sam said.


	2. Skittles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, uh, Cass isn't supposed to glow.

Bruce cleared his throat. “Is Cass supposed to glow?”

Sam stared at the angel, who was indeed giving off light. “We don’t know,” He admitted. “He’s sort of new.”

“He’s not supposed to glow,” said the Doctor. “Trust me, I’m the Doctor.”

“Doctor who, precisely?” Dean demanded.

“Just ‘the Doctor’,” said Rose.

He opened his mouth to argue it further, but she pressed a single finger to his lips and nodded to the Doctor, who was leaning over Castiel.

“Cass,” the Doctor said gently. “Castiel, can you hear me?”

“He can’t die,” Bruce said. “Who knows what his existence has changed? If he dies, Doctor, the answering waves of energy as time reverts itself across the entire omniverse—”

“I know!” The Doctor snapped.

Rose raised her eyebrows. “Doctor!”

“Sorry, Bruce, sorry,” he muttered.

Bruce shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. May I use the TARDIS phone?”

“Gonna call in the doctors?” Rose asked.

He nodded.

“Thought he was the Doctor,” Dean said. “Or is he just crazy?”

“I have doctorates in just about everything, including subjects you’ve never heard of and couldn’t study because human brains don’t have the capacity. I am not, however, well-practiced in the finer points of treating angels, because they don’t exist in my universe. Joan, John, Jones, Watson, Wilson, and House, however, are all very skilled in medical science.”

“What’s a TARDIS?” Sam asked.

It seemed most of them had forgotten he was there, because they all looked rather startled by the question.

“It’s a… oh, never mind, there’s no way to explain it,” Rose said. “Come with me and Bruce. Tony, Dean, you guys coming?”

“Sure,” Tony said.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances, but followed Rose out the front door, albeit with hands near weapons. “Maybe we should make a run for it?” Dean muttered.

“But if Cass was telling the truth and we’re in a pocket universe, we won’t get very far. Do you think Tony was kidding about Bruce?”

“Nothing would surprise me at this point,” admitted Dean.

Rose cleared her throat and gestured proudly to a weird blue paneled box. “This, gentlemen, is the TARDIS. Don’t worry, she likes you.”

“It’s a box,” Sam said blankly.

“ _She_ ’s a box,” corrected Tony. “She’s sentient, experiences time in a non-linear fashion, and she’s dimensionally transcendental!”

Rose opened the door and warm light spilled out. “Come on in,” She said.

Sam’s jaw dropped. “But it’s…”

“Bigger on the inside? Yeah,” Rose grinned.

“Dimensionally transcendental,” Sam said, “Got it.”

Bruce made a beeline for the phone, and Tony immediately crouched down to peer under the console. The soft blue light pulsed as if to welcome him. “Hello, Sexy,” Tony said, almost inaudibly.

“Sexy?” Dean squawked.

Rose laughed and said, “That’s her name. And I’ve met Baby, so don’t get all high and mighty, you’re just as attached.”

Bruce picked up the phone and spoke quietly into the receiver as Rose gave the boys a grand tour. Dean was looking increasingly overwhelmed when Rose guided them into a small room with a motel-style kitchenette. “She made this for you guys,” Rose explained as she took a seat.

“Okay, I gotta know. How come that café thing looks like a little mom and pop place we stopped at when we were kids?” Dean said.

“You must’ve come here before,” she said. “My mum wound up here with me right after my dad died. It lets us in when we need it. Sometimes it’s accidental. I’ve never seen anyone have to break _through_ the edges of their universe to get here. No wonder Cass is sick.”

“But… the woman who was behind the counter, and the doctor—” said Sam.

“Which woman?”

Sam shook his head. “Um, blonde, really tall… She was really friendly?” He said.

“Probably Miss Hudson,” Rose said. “Don’t confuse her and Mrs. Hudson, they’re alternate universe versions of one another. Don’t ask. And the doctor—pretty Asian woman?”

Dean snorted. “Not a chance. I’d remember _that_. No, he was like 40 and British. Blond, I think.”

“John!” Rose said. “Yeah, he’s awesome. He’s the alternate universe version of the pretty Asian, whose name is Joan. Bet Bruce is calling them, and their respective Sherlocks, now. He helped your Dad?”

“Sherlocks? Plural? Like Sherlock Holmes?” Sam sounded excited.

Rose grinned. “You betcha. They’re brilliant. Complete pricks, House—he’s a Holmes another universe got the names all mixed up, don’t ask—included, but they are brilliant.”

“Why are we here?” Dean said abruptly. “Sherlock Holmes, time travelers, geniuses, we’re not really in your league.”

Rose sighed and leaned back. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to answer the ‘why’. The Doctor explained the ‘how’, the ‘when’ is sort of beyond anyone not Time Lord, but as for ‘why’? It’s hard to say. But I can say that you belong here. And you are a hero. Both of you are. Some people we don’t all agree on, but you guys… Well, you’ll have to ask the Mod. She has a very long rant, with lots of squealing and hand gestures and hug breaks, and also a rather complicated description of existentialism, postmodernism, moral relativity, and superstition. It’s a thing you’ll have to ask her.”

“Moral whatnow?” Dean blinked.

“Uh, I think she calls you ‘sympathetic characters’ who are ‘driven by wanderlust and tragedy’ with something about existential crises and life purpose, and also ‘codependent sociopaths who use the deeply instilled fear of monsters to gain support despite their extensive and obvious double standards’.”

“Wait, what?” Sam said. “Sociopaths?”

“ _Double standards_?”

“Ah, don’t worry, the Mod calls me a Likeable Everyman, and says I’m only likeable because my irrationality, lack of extraordinary qualities, and prejudice sit comfortably with the audience and draw them in, so that I act as a void for them to fill. She then proceeds to flail over how absolutely perfect I am.”

“Uh…” the Winchester exchanged glances.

“Hi,” Bruce stuck his head around the corner and smiled politely. “They’re on their way, Rose.”


	3. Think Tank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why you should never question a fangirl.

“Why is all of Beacon Hills in the café?” asked the Doctor, his voice strained like he was trying to be patient. All of time and space for 900 years (okay, let’s be real, he’s been saying ‘900 years’ for at least 100 years, we’ll call a spade a spade and say ‘untold millennia’) and hormonal werewolves still made him uncomfortable. For excellent, excellent reason. The Mod now keeps a bucket of ice water next to the door to the bunkroom.

And no, cafés don’t generally have laboratories and bunkrooms and shooting ranges and bars, but ‘Café’ is so much catchier than ‘Rest Stop’ or ‘Weird Conglomeration of Everything You Need To Keep A Bunch of ‘Heroes’ Happy, or As Happy As a Bunch of ‘Heroes’ Can Be When Plagued By Tragedy and Joss Fucking Whedon’.

“Not all,” Scott said, and yeah, that was a hint of a sulk there. “Just Deaton and Lydia and Isaac and Allison and Stiles and Boyd and Erica and Derek.”

“Where’s Eleven and Claudia?” Shawn asked. “They’re my favourite people. Ooh! Wait, can Charlie—?”

“Charlie’s not viable,” the Doctor nodded to Sam and Dean, who were sitting in a corner looking stricken. Large groups of people made them uncomfortable enough, and when those people were the Sherlocks, the Sherlocks’ respective companions, a bunch of teenage werewolves, and a hyperactive detective and _his_ companion, all of whom appeared quite without warning, well, it was no wonder.

They’d probably be hovering over Cass who, while still an unknown in their timeline (and in this instance, the café too), was the only one they actually knew, but there were a bunch of medical Doctors huddled around the unconscious angel at a safe distance which House entirely ignored, preferring to poke and prod his unresponsive non-human patient.

“I could get my dad,” Allison suggested, ignoring the Doctor’s flinch ( _more_ armed people). “He’s a hunter too, and we already know he’ll get on with Dean someday,” She added, when Derek shot her a look.

“I’ve got Dean. Gus, Stiles, Bruce, talk to Sam. You’re all sensitive and shit,” said Tony, waving a careless hand. He brought up the Back in Black album on his tablet and led the other three over to the Winchesters.

Lydia dug hot pink painted talons into Shawn’s arm and dragged him over to the Sherlocks, who were having a think tank in the kitchen. London Sherlock was sprawled across a couch—because fuck you, there should always be kitchen couches—with NY Sherlock tucked under the crook of London Sherlock’s knees, and Holmes perched on the kitchen island countertop. Lydia sat on a barstool quite primly and crossed her legs as Shawn climbed onto the kitchen island behind Holmes and stretched out on his back.

“We just don’t know enough about angel biology,” NY Sherlock said as they got situated, nose buried in an old text about angels that was propped up on London Sherlock’s knees. “Maybe if Cass were awake and we had time, but as it is, he’s an unknown quantity.”

“So let’s call another angel,” said Ludia.

London Sherlock waved her off with a nicotine patch covered arm. “That would disrupt the Winchesters’ timelines.”

“Not,” Lydia said, “If he disguised himself using mildly ill-gotten pagan powers.”

“Gabriel,” Holmes breathed. “It could work. Shawn, what are we missing?” He added without looking over his shoulder.

The American grinned. “Skittles, for one. Also that Gabriel is a dick. Funny, but a dick. He doesn’t do freebies.”

“Also, no one knows how many of the angels the Winchesters have met,” said NY Sherlock.

“Mod does,” Lydia said.

Silence.

Then, “The Doctor would not like—” Holmes began delicately.

“Screw the Doctor,” said London Sherlock said.

NY Sherlock nodded. “We need her, and his morals might destroy the omniverse, no matter how much we like him.”

“You rang?” Mod asked, appearing with kindle in hand.

Lydia fixed her with a steely gaze, as if daring her to point out that the Doctor wouldn’t like their plan as she said, “Which angels have the Winchesters not met?”

“And can we get skittles?”

Mod sighed. “Too many to list. Skittles are in the cupboard labeled Shawn. Heads up, 2013, green skittles are green apple. (“No!” Shawn yelped.) And I know you’re only being ridiculous to cheer everyone up, but I would rather like skittles, thanks.” She added, as Shawn stretched out his arm and tugged open the drawer, making a soft noise of delight when his fingers encountered glossy paper bags of fruity deliciousness wrapped in pretty candy shells.

“Yeah, that’ll keep him on task,” London Sherlock quipped. “We intend to disguise Gabriel as an archangel who died before the apocalypse, or at least is not ever mentioned in ‘canon’.”

“Use Jofiel,” she said promptly. “Oh! And make sure he disguises himself as a female, blonde, not too attractive, with green eyes and feminine cloths. Has to be a chick, because otherwise they’ll feel threatened and ask annoying questions.”

“What,” said the Holmeses.

“Sam likes blondes. Better make it brunette,” Lydia said briskly. “Light brunette, though, or else Dean will be all over her.”

“Blue-green eyes, then, or she’ll look too much like Gabriel,” said Mod Aline.

“’Types’ are not very scientific,” NY Sherlock complained.

“Blonde Ruby. Blonde Meg. Jo. Jess. And both boys like dark brunettes—for Sammy, it was Madison and Ruby 2.0—and Dean’s only romantic interests have been Cassie, Lisa, and Castiel. All dark hair. Plus, his weird codependency and his abundance of bio-daddy related issues—both brunets—and the idea of his mother, then Jess, and finally Jo, as unattainable familial bonds. Blondes are family, gingers are friends, light brown haired people are allies and friends, and dark haired people are love interests. Plus, there’s the OTP formula. But I digress.” This was all said very quickly in a brisk tone with all the confidence of a lecturing fangirl.

“I understood about five percent of that,” Lydia admitted.

“Have the Doctor call Kali and explain the physical description of the requisite disguise. We need to revive a certain archangel. Now, will someone tell me what’s going on?”


	4. INTERMISSION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm a wee bit busy, so have this little Rose/Ten discussion of Sam/Ten in the meantime.

“You _like_ him.”

The words seemed to hang in the air above the two, unhurried. Their hands remained tangled together in the space between them.

“Who, Sam?” the Doctor asked.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he echoed, “Yeah, I really do. Like him, I mean.”

A silence fell, broken only by steady, in sync breathing and three heartbeats. Then, “Do you still like me?” Rose said in a quiet voice.

He rolled onto his side, facing her, and she mirrored him. “Rose Tyler,” he said, “I like you very much. I like you just as much as him and in the same way. I really like Sam, just… different. In the same way, but different. Do you understand?”

“Like Jack likes you and Ianto?” She asked, just to make perfectly clear they meant the same thing.

“Yeah,” the Doctor said again. “900 years, Rose. I’ve been engaged, I’ve been married, I’ve been kissed, I’ve been slapped by your mother, and I’ve been alone for only a fraction of that time. I can’t possibly like only one person. And wouldn’t it be silly, to give me two hearts and so much brain, if I could only like one person?”

“But you like me.”

“Always,” he said, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

They settled once more on their backs, this time with their legs and shoulders and arms and hips pressed closer together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yea, they're being five year olds and saying 'like' because love is big and scary and hard to say.


	5. Penguins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claudia has the best tech, a fact one must only state out of earshot of Tony Stark, unless one wishes to have a shoe lobbed at one's head.

“Thank you for coming,” said the Doctor, as Kali led Gabriel into the café.

Kali looked up at him through the long sweep of black lashes. “This was not a favor, Doctor.”

He held out the power cell. “Don’t make me regret this, Kālikā,” he warned.

“Regret is such a useless emotion,” Kali purred. “I would hate to cause you that particular inconvenience, Lord of Time.”

“I’m sure,” said the Doctor, and the goddess vanished. Gabriel, who was already disguised precisely to the description specified by Lydia, was watching him with curiosity. “Hi. I’m the Doctor.”

“You really aren’t human,” said the archangel in a pleasantly surprised sort of voice, like someone who’d been expecting a badly knitted sweater for Yule and instead got a nice dark green one without even a tree on it, let alone absurd decorations like penguins. Penguins aren’t even all that cute or festive; they look like those suit wearing bureaucrats who come into elementary schools and poke around and then your nice old lady teachers have to wear high heels instead of loafers and there’s no more recess and the cafeteria only sells healthy foods.

“No,” the Doctor agreed, “I’m really not human. I’m a Time Lord. I even have two hearts.”

“Cool,” said Gabriel.

Joan came over, glancing over the angel’s new form. “You must be… Jofiel. Welcome back to the land of the living. Your brother needs you.”

“Ancient and timeless being, and I die for the Winchesters, get revived by my ex-girlfriend who’s dating my archenemy, and dragged to another universe by an alien to save the Winchesters’ pet angel.”

“More commonly known as your brother,” retorted Joan.

Gabriel arched an eyebrow and looked over her, before grinning. “Show me the way.”

Before they could move, there came the VWORP, VWORP of the TARDIS materialising, and it slowly became solid in the centre of the café.

“That’s not my TARDIS,” the Doctor said. “Must be Eleven.”

“Hello, hello, never fear for the Doctor is here—uh, twice, apparently. Hey, Ten.” Eleven said cheerily, sauntering out of his TARDIS. “And whaddaya know, I’ve got a ginger in tow!”

“Please stop rhyming,” Isaac winced.

Claudia poked her head out of the TARDIS. “Isaac! Actual puppy Isaac Lahey! Good to see you and your grumpy pack. Derek, you look like that cat. The grumpy one. Erica, look it up, cannot be unseen. Rose Tyler, you’re looking fabulous as ever, and Ten, you too. God, I love your hair. So! What’s the haps, café goers?”

“Cass might be dying, the Sherlocks let Mod stay even though the Doctor suspects there are nefarious things afoot, Jofiel here is secretly our only archangel café goer, lime skittles became green apple is a move more controversial that the reintroduction of the red M&M, and basically half of Beacon Hills is here, as you can see. Oh! And two Avengers, namely the science bros,” Stiles listed off.

“Yeah, uh, as much as this sounds fun, my pack and I are heading home. I think McCall can handle whatever this is,” said Derek.

“Thanks, I think,” Scott said.

“Have you tried sonicking Cass?” Claudia asked Ten.

“The sonic isn’t accustomed to angelic life forms of the non-weeping variety,” said Ten. “But he is giving off unusually high energy readings, even though his current state is more consistent with him Falling.”

Gabriel frowned. “Current state?”

“He’s non-responsive, eyes closed, all the works,” said Joan. “If he were human, I’d be placing him on the Glasgow scale at around a 4. But as it is…” she spread her hands.

“Take me to him _now_ ,” Gabriel ordered.

The huddle of doctors (of the not Time Lord variety, although there had been some question of that regarding House, as there had been with all the Sherlocks) parted like the Red Sea so Gabriel could kneel beside Castiel.

Dean abandoned his conversation with Tony in favour of craning his neck to watch over Castiel. Sam hovered behind the doctors and shifted nervously.

A terse silence fell over the café as the archangel reached two fingers towards Cass. It was broken by a sudden gasp as Castiel bolted upright, eyes wide.

“Whoa,” said Gabriel, and leaned back onto his—err, her—heels.

Dean shoulder his way through between Martha and John. “What did you do?”

“It’s okay, Dean, I’m fine. She’s a… friend,” said Castiel, unnerving blue gaze gentle for once.

“Jofiel,” Gabriel said, and offered her hand to the elder Winchester. “The Doctor called me in.”

“Jofiel, that’s an angel name, right?” asked Sam.

Castiel nodded. “She is my sister.”

NY Sherlock was leaning over and talking to Claudia in urgent, hushed tones. As the doctors and the Doctors discussed Cass’s reaction to Gabriel’s presence, Claudia began to pick her way through the crowd. She tapped Watson on the shoulder.

“My apologies, Miss Donovan,” said Watson, and moved out of her way.

“Hey, Cass,” she said, and sunk into a crouch. “Doc says you have super high energy readings. What’s up with that—do you know?”

Castiel shrugged. “Maybe the Doctor can’t fathom angelic energy.”

“Yeah, the Doctor is kinda limited in his tech. He only gets access to one universe. Me, I’ve been to three, including yours. Which is how I know _this_ will work,” Claudia said, and spun a heavily modified sonic screwdriver through her fingers to point at him. She pressed a button at the same time as she tugged on a pull ring, and it hummed quietly, the gear on the side clicking.

The angel lunged out to grab for it, but withdrew with a decidedly not angelic growl.

Claudia grinned triumphantly and moved back, sliding it open to check the readings. “Isomorphic controls, you sneaky bastard,” She said, and looked down at the cylindrical screen, “ _You_ aren’t Cass, you’re…uh, Doc?”

Eleven and Ten both moved quickly, but Castiel was faster. He swept one hand out, sending both Time Lords crashing into the wall and pinning them there.

“Get—in—TARDIS,” Eleven choked out, before Castiel’s eyes narrowed and he fell silent.

“Don’t move,” Castiel said in a strange voice, eyes flicking over the crowd.

Claudia hovered her thumb over the sonic’s button. “Let us get into the TARDIS, or I’ll kill you, time lines be damned.”

“You won’t be able to fly away, child of time; I’ve locked your precious café down. No-one can leave.”

“So you’ve nothing to fear by letting me ensure the safety of my friends,” said Claudia. “Whereas you have everything to fear from my clever little sonic device here.”

Someone cleared their throat, and everyone turned just in time to see Jack Harkness fire an odd looking gun at Castiel.


	6. Think Tank, a reprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sort of Leviathan, demon, Cassandra, living sun, season 6 episodes 1 through 11, “Midnight” type thing.

(TEN MINUTES EARLIER)

“If Cass is really okay, he’ll recognize Gabriel immediately,” Mod Aline said.

“ _What_?” said Stiles, who’d drifted over to snag some skittles. “You’ll mess up the time lines.”

“I’d be more concerned if I weren’t positive Cass isn’t okay,” Lydia said drily.

NY Sherlock nodded. “Something is very wrong.”

“I’m thinking a sort of Leviathan, demon, Cassandra, living sun, season 6 episodes 1 through 11, “Midnight” type thing.”

“Uh,” Stiles blinked at the Mod.

Aline gave a long-suffering sigh. “I think Castiel isn’t actually Castiel,” she said, to collective hums of sudden understanding.

Lydia nodded. “The Doctor said he had unusual energy readings, and that’s definitely not consistent with a 3 on the Glasgow scale."

"I think he’s faking that," Aline said. " _Why_ would Cass fake a coma? Cass _wouldn’t_ fake one. So it’s not Cass.”

“Your logic is shaky but acceptable,” London Sherlock said, “And the use of Gabriel is a decent litmus test.”

“All in favour?” Lydia asked.

Every hand went up, including colour stained ones from Shawn and Stiles, and she nodded. “I’ll tell the Doctor.”

“ _Please_ can I man the TARDIS phone? I know I’m not supposed to meddle with time lines—” This had been a point of contention, because most people agreed that the Mod’s intimate knowledge of their lives was, while creepy and oftentimes embarrassing, very useful in avoiding things like apocalypses and faked deaths, but the Doctors had waved hands about anxiously and whinged for a really long time about _unforeseeable consequences_ which were somehow more dangerous than the various and sundry preventable tragedies in their lives, and finally everyone agreed that it was best to shush Mod when she talked for too long, in order to preserve the time lines as well their own sanity. “—but I promise not to ramble or even hint at plot points, and no-one notices me when I’m gone.”

“Fine,” London Sherlock sighed, and Mod Aline squealed excitedly and ran off to Ten’s TARDIS.

Lydia watched her go and then turned back to ask the Sherlocks something, only to find them arm-wrestling with Holmes officiating. “We’re all going to die,” She said, and went off to find the Doctor.

-

“Attention all café goers, there is a Code Lilac situation in the café. We need Captain Jack, Doctor Horrible, and anyone else who can help us fight off a creature of unusual power. Or possibly heal that creature. No-one’s really sure. Repeat, Code Lilac. We do have specific need of Captain Jack and Doctor Horrible.”

There’s a list of the various codes on the kitchen fridge in the café. It has to be pinned up in order to not touch the ground.

-

(PRESENT TIME)

“I wanted to shoot the giant cannon,” Jace complained as Jack lowered the gun. “We don’t get to use guns on demons. The runes keep the gunpowder from igniting.”

“This one hasn’t got gunpowder. I’ll see what I can do about building you modern weaponry that’s compatible with rune magic,” said Billy.

Jack Sparrow poked his head out from behind Doctor Horrible. “I’m here because I was asked to be, not because I’m a hero. Absolutely no heroics.”

“Well, me and Simon are here as heroes,” said Kaylee. “Hey, y’all.”

“I’m here to help as well, and Spock wants it known that he’s here under duress,” Kirk grinned at Spock, who ignored him studiously.

Claudia steadied herself on Watson’s arm. “Man, am I glad he didn’t call my bluff,” She said. “Thanks for the last minute rescue, you guys; that was pretty cool. I dig the gun, Billy. You, me, Tony, and Fitz should team up sometime.”

“Absolutely not,” Eleven said as he picked himself up gingerly. “Into the TARDIS, please.” He dusted himself off.

“You’re just upset because I won’t let you stick a piece of twine and a clothes hanger into my epic engineering designs,” Claudia said, straightening his bowtie and patting him on the cheek. “You okay?”

“I’m always okay,” he smiled back at her, expression taut.

Ten went over to Sam, who was hovering a safe seeming distance away from the unconscious Castiel, and rested a warm hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” he said. “You all right, Sam?”

“It’s… a lot to take in,” said Sam. “Especially all at once. Is Castiel dead?”

“We won’t let that happen,” Ten said firmly. “Castiel will be your friend for some time yet.”

“Cass isn’t my friend. He hates me.”

Ten raised his eyebrows. “Really, now? The Cass I know is many things, but hateful is not one of them. Socially awkward, on the other hand, is.”

“Come on, let’s get into the TARDIS,” Bruce interrupted.

Before any of them could move, the cloister bell chimed and the TARDIS doors slammed shut. Gus, who had been standing in front of the doors, about to go inside, made a rather alarming noise, and Simon threw himself against the door. “Kaylee!”

“Simon, Bruce, Gus, into the kitchen—now!” Ten ordered, as Castiel stirred.

Sam and the Doctor immediately moved to usher the other three behind the bar. Once they were all crouched behind the counters, Sam began scanning for some sort of weapon. Instead he found a trapdoor that said THROUGH HERE. Ten spotted it at the same time, and they exchanged a glance that turned to grins.

There was a sudden loud clatter, followed by a growl that mixed with the ringing of the TARDIS cloister bell.

“Shall we?” Ten said, urgency colouring his tone.

The hunter shrugged. “After you.”

Bruce slid forward and lifted the trapdoor up and open, making as little sound as possible. He was fidgeting slightly, still staying low so as to not alert Castiel—or, whatever he was now—to the fact that some of them hadn’t made it to the TARDIS.

Ten pulled out his sonic, clenched it between his teeth, and lowered himself down. His feet hit solid ground with a reassuring thud, and he squinted off into the darkness. He waved the sonic around when there was another particularly loud clatter, and then looked up and nodded. “Sam, I need you to follow up behind us, so Guster and Simon—oh.”

Gus had already clamored down into the tunnel and was standing with his arms folded protectively over his chest. Bruce helped Simon lower himself down and then hesitated on the edge of the opening. “Are we sure—” he broke off as the café became suddenly, eerily silent.

Sam shoved Bruce into the trapdoor and followed him. The trapdoor closed with a resounding  _thud_.


End file.
